


Dump Truck Is Right

by Soul4Sale



Series: Play With Me [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Bottom!Firkle, Fluff, Gay, Korean!Filmore, M/M, Slash, Slight racism mention, Teasing, Top!Filmore, Yaoi, unbeta’d
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 12:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10491015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soul4Sale/pseuds/Soul4Sale
Summary: Filmore really would eat anything, maybe that was why Firkle likened him to Experiment 625.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, here’s another piece for the Fanfiction-Friends’ Weekly Writing Prompts. This week it was **the difference between Defiantly and Definitely**. I had too much fun writing this, and I dedicate it to my Filmore I rp with on Tumblr (Filmoreandersonx). 
> 
> Quick note: Firkle has two pets, a veined/coconut octopus named Edgar and a nine-year-old Chihuahua with a missing toe, most of his fur missing, one eye missing and the other has cataracts, named Monster. He’s Firk’s baby, even if he’s kind of a downer. Anyway, on we go!
> 
> Another note: I know the word cap for these WWPs is 1,000 words, but I couldn’t find a way to condense and was given permission to have gone over a bit. ; u;

“I think I finally found the best analogy for how you eat.” Firkle stated proudly, hunkered over his laptop on Filmore’s couch. He glanced over at the other, who was busy snapping _another_ picture with Monster, trying to get the toothless wonder to smile for his phone. “Ahem, I _said_ \--”

“I heard you, babe, aish.” Finally rolling off the couch and leaving the poor, old Chihuahua to rest on his favorite pillow, the jock strode over and knelt down beside his whirlwind of a lover. “So, what is it? If it’s a bunch of fancy words you might need to tutor me.” He joked, even if his words weren’t entirely untrue. English was his first and only language, despite appearances, and he was nowhere near as good at it as Firkle The English Freak. 

“Don’t worry, it’s a children’s game. Even you should be able to understand.” Leaning over and pecking his cheek, proud of the purple lipstick mark he left behind. Filmore offered him that stupid, adorable pout that made all of his thousands of Instagram followers melt, and Firkle was only slightly embarrassed that he fell for it and kissed the other’s lips to make him grin again.

“Okay, so, do you remember that movie _Lilo and Stitch_?” He questioned, finally, head tipping a little bit.

“Yeah, a little.” By now, the taller male was rocking on the balls of his feet a little, watching his lover’s screen with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, they made a T.V. series out of it, and my sister was obsessed with it. On the Disney website, they had this game called 625’s Sandwich Stacker. And I play it sometimes when I’m bored or stressed out. It’s kind of mind-numbing and easy but it’s also addictive.” The explanation came and went, and all that Filmore seemed to hear was ‘I’m bored’.

“I’m boring you?”

“No, shut up. What I meant was like… I play it sometimes, okay? And this little guy,” He pointed to the yellow alien in the small window of the game, “He eats just like you do. I’ve made sandwiches for him that are nothing but mayonaise, mustard and lettuce, and he eats it anyway.”

“What?” With a disgusted frown, Filmore leaned back on his ass and offered up a half-hearted glare accompanied with another pout, “That sounds disgusting, even for my standards of garbage.” He spoke defiantly, crossing his arms and putting on a nice, big ‘take it back’ show.

“Well, you did always wear that dump truck shirt when you were a kid. It’s like you were just advertising the fact that you’ll eat almost anything.” The pout only increased with his words, and the goth scooted forward to set his laptop down before getting up languidly. Stepping over carefully, he dropped himself into the other’s lap and pressed a kiss to his cheek when he turned his face away. “Oh, come on. You admitted it yourself, you feed yourself garbage all the time.”

“Yeah, but not a lettuce, mayo and mustard sandwich! Geez.”

“I know, I know. You have to have Manly things on it, too, right?” Kissing all over his jaw and neck, he prided himself in smudging the purple lipstick into one giant mess. “Like roast beef and chicken, a turkey, a pizza~”

“Now you’re just buttering me up.” And it was working, too. That soft coo, the teasing tone, it was going to be his undoing. He needed to stay bitter for at _least_ five minutes to help his bruised ego, but Firkle was nothing if not good at disarming his anger since they had gotten together.

“I am _definitely_ buttering you up, Mr. Instagram.” Firkle practically purred in his ear, kissing and sucking on the lobe for a second before pushing him back to lay down. “Anyway, it’s not like you’re fat or anything. Your constant intake of everything you see just feeds your stupid-fast metabolism. I wonder if you get that from your birth parents.”

“Hey, now,” That pout returned and Firkle instantly regretted saying that, “I’m being civil, no need to start pulling that ‘all Asians are skinny’ card.”

“How many times have you pulled that ‘all goths are freaks’ card on me, huh? I think I owe you a little return warfare.” He was smiling, at least, and that definitely took the fire out of Filmore’s belly.

“Aish, you’re such a handful sometimes, babe. What am I going to do with you?” This was tailed by a gentle laugh as Firkle fluttered his eyelashes just under the (slightly) elder’s chin.

“Love me forever and remember that my goal in life is to be your pretty little trophy wife.”

“You’d definitely be good at that.” Petting a hand through the other’s long hair, he pushed it out of his face and kissed him softly on the lips. “So, can I try this game that supposedly is me?”

“Of course. I call dibs sitting in your lap, though.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s do this.”

Firkle stood slowly, offering a hand to help his bulkier lover even if he probably couldn’t pull him up if he tried, and Filmore took it even if he didn’t really use the other’s weight to stand. Picking him up around the waist, he moved them to the couch and sat with his back against the arm, and Firkle between his spread legs. With the laptop in place over Firkle’s lap, he wrapped his arms around him to click ‘Start Game’, and Firkle guided him through the controls. 

“The best way to get a high score later in the game is to stack as much as you can in the first ten levels,” He explained, “Because after that it gets faster and harder to catch the bread before you get covered in rancid food.”

“Oh, so he doesn’t eat _everything_?” Filmore chuckled, skipping the first launch of bread like he was instructed.

“No, he’s like you. He doesn’t like germs.” Resting his head on the other’s chest, he closed his eyes, letting the music take him away. It was funky and not his usual bag, but he’d grown to see it as something cathartic. 

“Shit!” That had his eyes blinking open again and he looked down at the game, giggling behind his hand. 

“You can do better than that, you know. Keep trying. I didn’t do so well when I first started, either.”

A kiss was planted on the back of his head and he smiled softly, watching the other begin his first retry. This was going to be a long afternoon, if the other’s perfectionist streak said anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my gosh this was so much fun to write! And I’m finally putting forth some effort into the Firkmore ship! This ship will sail, even if I have to power the whole thing with my own air.


End file.
